Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (17 page)

“Thanks,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m warmer now. And I think I’m going to drop unconscious for a long while.”

He nodded.

Nora lay back on the rank, untanned bear pelt and was only mildly surprised to still be alive while the mountain bear was now dead. When her back touched the fur, she moaned in relief. Lying down was so, so good. Being warm was so, so good, too. Her eyes closed, and she was asleep before Diaz had stowed away both cups.

T
hey were still in the
midst of the Plains when the weather finally decided to play by its usual strength. The storm moon, the month was called. And storm it did. The winds howled around the two travelers on the grassy Plains with nothing to stand in the way, no shelter for the pair to hide under. They kept moving from one small woodland to the next along the Plains, heads bowed and hooded, leaning against the wind. The already sparse conversation died as the wind snatched every word from Nora’s lips, tearing at her voice. It was pointless to try any talk. Besides, Diaz didn’t even bother to turn around to answer her most of the time. He always walked a few paces in front, leading her forward. And by the end of the day, when she was utterly exhausted, he was so far in front of her that she would have to yell for him to hear. Not that she had the breath for it. Sometimes days would go by without an exchange. It was very silent traveling with Master Diaz.

Day took long to break in the brooding gray, and dusk fell early. And always the icy wind, sheets of sleeting rain. The last few days, Diaz had them march on for what felt like hours as night fell around them in the early afternoon. His half-wight eyes could see in the dark, Nora guessed, because under the clouded sky, with no heavenly light to guide her, she stumbled and groped while he kept going straight.

She tripped over something and fell, instinctively reaching out with both hands to break her fall. The jarring impact with the sodden ground sent a flare of blinding pain into her shoulder, which was still healing. She fought her way back up to a kneeling position and tried to peer into the gloom around her, massaging her hurt shoulder. She couldn’t see anything but grass before her. She rose clumsily, first to one knee, then pushing herself up. But there was still no sign of the wight. Her heart rose into her throat.

“Diaz!”

She called his name softly, but the wind was stronger. So she called louder, her voice breaking with effort. There he was, more to her left than she had thought, and her heart skipped to see him coming toward her in the darkness. That felt…weird. But still, he had saved her life. She was depending on him getting her to the Temple of the Wind. And though she resented the thought of being dependent, she understood she’d never make it across the Plains on her own. So she took his hand as he reached out to her, muttering something in his own language she was happy to not understand—although the tone was such that she
could
understand.

Hand in hand into the dark, like in the old stories: a long time ago, not far from here, but far enough, a wight met a maiden fair and took her with him into the night. And she was never seen again. Only, in her own tale, it was a half-wight, and Nora didn’t consider herself to be very fair, considering all the grime building up.

Diaz had meant for them to reach a small wood they had seen before the light had faded. But now they sat in a shallow bowl of grass, the winds whistling above their heads, no firewood, no light, no warmth, no talking—all because Nora had fallen. She was so drained she felt like crying. Because why not? But she was too tired to cry. After a few shuddering dry sobs, she half hid her face in the fur she had huddled into, breathed onto her cold fingers, and closed her eyes. She felt Diaz sit down next to her. He moved so close that their legs were touching. For a moment she just sat there, hands curled in her lap. Then she pulled out her leather waterskin and took a sip.

“You know Ridger’s Muck?” she asked.

“No.” He moved beside her, trying to get comfortable. “But I know Fisherman’s Muck. They drink it on the coastline villages around Dernberia. Strong brew. Is it the same?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Although every village, every household has its own recipe, of course.”

She frowned after taking another gulp of water. They were talking more than they had the last few days.

“I like mine with elderberry syrup. Sometimes I put fennel seeds in as well. I wish I had some. My throat really hurts. Good job we don’t have much food. I couldn’t swallow it properly anyway.”

“You’ll be out of the cold soon.”

“How soon?”

“Depends on you.” She stiffened and he amended his statement. “Probably another two weeks of traveling.”

“What’s it like? The temple?”

“It’s a haven of peace.” Diaz cleared his throat. The rasp stayed. “There aren’t many pilgrims left there. A handful, maybe. We used to be many, hundreds. But now, few want to live by our code. Too ancient, too restrictive. Things may have changed. I was there last three years ago. But I have a good friend there. Perhaps my best,” he added, frowning.

“Is he…human?” Nora prompted.

Diaz’s lips twitched.

“He is a she. And yes, Master Cumi is very much human. She’s a…a healer, a very talented one. One you haven’t seen the likes of before. She’s also a very capable leader.”

“A woman as a leader, huh?” Nora half smiled. “I’m shocked at the thought.”

“The temple is also safe and warm. And the food’s good, too, as far as I remember. But the best thing? Deep down under the temple are caves with small pools of hot water sprung from the depths of the earth. Hot springs make for hot baths.”

“Hot baths without hauling buckets? You tease.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t remember warmth.”

“They’ll be the first thing I show you, then.”

“I’ll bathe after I’ve seen Owen.”

“You should bathe first.”

She flushed and buried her face deeper into the fur. It was true. She smelled like…well, like a person who hadn’t bathed in a while. Her fingernails were black, and she had managed to tie her hair into a tight braid to keep the grease out of her face. She washed her hands and face fastidiously whenever possible, but she’d been in the wild for nearly a month now and it showed. And smelled. As if he were better, though!

Diaz cleared his throat. Again. It never helped.

“I meant to say…” he started.

“It’s all right.” Her voice was muffled by her cloak. She was too tired to fight.

“Women usually smell better than men, anyway,” he finished.

She laughed through her nose. There was a long pause after that. She leaned back, trying to relax the aching muscles in the small of her back. The two of them lay side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

Suddenly Diaz twitched beside her. He jumped up and lay flat against the other side of the bowl. It was hard to make out his shape, even though he was barely an arm’s length away.

“Do you see it?”

He pointed into the dark. Nora leaned forward, eyes watering, staring into nothingness.

Diaz’s hand cupped the back of her head and turned it slightly to the right. Something was there. Like a twinkling star, only on the ground.

“A fire?”

“A fire. Under the trees we wanted to reach earlier.”

Her heart lifted.

“Maybe it’s Owen. I mean, Prince Bashan’s company.”

“No.” Diaz hoisted himself up to the bowl’s rim. He bent back down to Nora. “Stay here. Stay quiet. Stay out of sight.”

“How do you know?” Nora strained to see something in the dark. “Wait. I can’t come?”

“No.” His hoarse whisper was already fading.

Nora grumbled a little as she lay back in the grass, but she was secretly relieved that she didn’t have to get up and run around in the dark with Diaz. Funny, though. The night was colder without him by her side.

When a hand touched her shoulder, Nora woke with a start and realized two things instantly. First, it was daytime already. The sun was a low white drop behind the clouds. And second, her knife wasn’t in her hand. She was defenseless and alone and—
fuck!
—they were coming to get her! Strong hands held her flailing arms tight, and panic crawled up her throat. She screamed.

“It’s me. Noraya.” She saw the now-familiar wight eyes staring down at her. Diaz had returned.

“It’s me,” he repeated softly and let her go.

“You were sleeping,” he then said disapprovingly.

“I was only resting my eyes!” Nora said. “Yeah, I was sleeping. You told me to stay here, so here I stayed. I’m tired and wounded, you know?”

“The sun rose two hours ago.”

Diaz started pacing around the bowl. She wasn’t moving fast enough for him, Nora knew, but couldn’t will her body to hurry up. A thin coat of hoarfrost lined her sleeping fur and she was stiff.

“So, the fire?” she prompted, though she knew she wouldn’t like the answer.

“There are more than fifty men camping in the woods between us and the Temple of the Wind.”

“Fifty?” Nora stopped rolling her fur together, shocked at the sheer number, then hastened to stow it away. Goose bumps rose on her forearms that had nothing to do with the cold. Her mind was racing.

“What do you think…?”

“…they’re doing crossing the Plains?” Diaz glanced around. “I’m not sure. They’re not refugees, as there are no families. Not mercenaries—too few have weapons of worth. It matters not. I don’t plan to ask them. We are two. They are many. We should be able to be quicker and overtake them by this afternoon.”

He looked down at her with a grim expression.

“I shudder to think what would have been, had one of them found you sleeping.”

Nora stuck a few strips of cured venison into her mouth, chewing mechanically, and nodded.

They struck out north and walked a wide circle around the forest where the fire had been. Nora picked up Diaz’s speed and kept close, watching the horizon as they marched. The Plains were deceptively empty. They saw no one before darkness fell once more, and this time, Nora took Diaz’s hand.

N
ora twisted away from the
thrust of the dagger, and her nose squashed against Owen’s shoulder blade. Ah. It was just a nightmare, then. Her right hand still felt flabby flesh close around it, felt the scrape of the young man’s skull at the tip of her knife, jarring her hand, half waking her.

She buried her face deeper into the warmth and felt the steady rhythm of another person breathing next to her. It calmed her pounding heart a little. Her hand still held her dream knife so tightly her fingernails had imprinted little half-moons into her palm. She consciously opened her fist. It was just a dream.

Owen smelled different, though. What was that scent? Mostly bear. And reek—that was her. But there was a trace of something. She took a deep breath. Like a fresh woodland smell. Owen didn’t smell like that. Leather, ink, paper, and charcoal, yes. Was it rosemary?

Her brow furrowed in her dream-hazed wakefulness. Owen wasn’t even near her. He was far, far away. She tensed and was fully awake.

It wasn’t Owen. It was Diaz. Her face was buried so deep in the folds of his cloak her eyelashes scraped against the wool when she blinked. Oh crap. Should she roll over? Pretend to still be asleep? He must have noticed her bump into him. She waited for some agonizingly long seconds, but he continued breathing regularly. Fine. Maybe he was sleeping too. She relaxed a little.

Strange how sleeping together was so intimate, she thought. Not
that
sleeping together, obviously. Rather, you let down all guard, trusting the other person not to abuse your vulnerability. You were close, moved together, always half conscious of the one next to you.

Diaz knew her much better than she knew him, Nora realized. Because he was mostly awake, keeping watch while she slept, watching her when she had nightmares or shifted when her shoulder ached, and probably, when she drooled all over her arm, too. This time he was asleep and she was awake, and now she’d watch over him. Pay the trust back.

Darkness still lingered. Dawn had not yet broken. She sighed and curled up closer to Diaz to relish his warmth a little bit longer and to breathe in more rosemary scent. It made her feel a little homesick—a yearning for simple kitchen work, chopping herbs, roasting vegetables from the garden. He had pulled the bear fur over the two of them while she slept. It was warm and dark and safe. Maybe she could still get some sleep.